At a young age, Abbey Phillipson was a dedicated junior gymnast. She was a stubborn athlete who pushed through every flip and trick. Nothing stood in the way of her and her goals. Every twisted ankle and swollen wrist seemed like just a speed bump in her road to excellence.
While her teammates recovered quickly from small mishaps, though, Phillipson was benched by the same occurrences. With each sprain came increasing concern from her friends and family. And before she knew it, she was at the doctor for a flurry of dislocated joints and plentiful bruising.
By the end of elementary school, Phillipson had simply become too fragile to keep up. The young athlete had been diagnosed with Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a rare genetic disorder that specifically affects the body’s connective tissue. What could be brushed off as slight pain for an able-bodied child could take Phillipson days or even weeks to recover from.
Following this discovery, came soul-crushing news.
“I asked if I could keep doing gymnastics,” Phillipson told The Michigan Daily. “(The doctors) said, every day that you do gymnastics, you’re taking off a day that you’ll be able to walk.”
Phillipson was devastated that her body couldn’t hold up to her ambition. And for the remainder of her adolescence, Phillipson pivoted to dance, hoping a sport of lower intensity would be a better match for her body’s abilities. As a dancer, she was able to utilize her differing physical abilities to her advantage. One common symptom of EDS is hypermobility, which allowed Phillipson to contort herself in unique ways and create eye-catching movements.
While the dance community highlighted her remarkable flexibility, it also forced Phillipson to conform during her formative years. At the crossroads of uniformity and precision, Phillipson battled with the expectations placed on her body. While she was undoubtedly resilient, her body could only fight so hard to perfectly match the others.
Injuries resurfaced once again, but this time they were accompanied by a battle for acceptance.
“When everyone was getting ‘best smile,’ ‘best flexibility,’ I got, ‘most likely to never finish a season,’ ” Phillipson said.
In spite of all that she could do and the endless benefits she brought to the team, Phillipson was laughed at for her limitations. In the face of her vulnerability, she felt more isolated than ever.
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At 17 years old, Phillipson underwent major spinal surgery. She had suffered from grade five spondylolisthesis, a severe spinal condition in which one vertebra slips forward and severely compresses the one beneath it. This led to multiple fractures in her L4-L5 vertebrae and ultimately the complete separation of the two vertebrae.
The surgery went as planned, but what stood in front of her was a daunting recovery. Phillipson expected to begin physical therapy directly following the procedure. Her neurosurgeon, however, prescribed a surprising path to recovery.
Phillipson’s spinal condition, and the severity of it, was extremely rare among her age group. Most individuals suffering from spondylolisthesis were considerably older or had sustained the condition from severe physical trauma or injury. But because of the nature of Phillipson’s circumstance, her surgeon proposed the idea of a personal trainer.
“I asked him, ‘So when do I go to physical therapy,’ ” Phillipson said. “He said, ‘No, I don’t think I want you to do that. I want you to lift weights. I want you to get really strong.’ ”
Phillipson was used to sitting out in gym class. She was the girl that was mocked for her fragility and misunderstood for her disability. So the recommendation to begin weight training felt like a joke, especially considering that she would be wheelchair bound for a large portion of her recovery.
In fall of 2018, Phillipson started her freshman year at Michigan. Throughout her first semester, her healing accelerated. She began to rely less and less on her walker, and became increasingly curious about weight training independently. Phillipson began exploring the campus gym alongside her roommate. She spent her time among the array of machines and pursued the opportunity to not only workout and achieve athleticism, but also support her healing body.
As Phillipson progressed in the gym, she realized why weight training was recommended to her years prior. By gaining muscle mass, her body was able to better support her joints. Her hypermobility lessened and dislocations became far less frequent. It was during this time when she saw that strength training could be used to her advantage.
On campus, Phillipson connected with a student organization focused on adaptive gymnastics. Eager to combine her love of gymnastics and her passion for disability awareness, Phillipson saw a place for herself here. The training gym owner was amazed by Phillipson’s dedication and knowledge and soon assigned Phillipson to co-owner of the club.
There, Phillipson spent four years building a community where individuals with physical and intellectual disabilities could practice gymnastics in a space dedicated to them and their abilities. In turn, she became more in touch with her own identity.
“I realize now that I like being able to say that I am a person with a disability,” Phillipson said. “I didn’t really used to say that or consider myself as somebody who has a disability.”
Coaching individuals with a disability gave Phillipson a newfound purpose. She began to feel power in breaking the mold. Rather than trying to fit into spaces she was not welcome in, Phillipson created her own. And, along with it, inspired others to do the same.
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In Phillipson’s senior year, she was given the ultimate opportunity to showcase herself as an athlete. One day, as she was working, a man approached her, impressed by her physique. He was shocked by her grit and commitment and recommended that Phillipson reach out to his wife, a professional body builder.
Phillipson was initially intrigued by the offer but she couldn’t shake the skepticism as she considered all of the ways that her disability might affect her ability to compete. She messaged the man’s wife, expressing her interest and concern.
“I have severe scoliosis,” Phillipson said. “I have scars all over my back, and scars on my legs. She told me, ‘They don’t care. They look at your muscles.’ ”
By the end of their conversation, Phillipson was all in. She was captivated by the idea of using the strength she had built to compete on a professional level. The judges weren’t looking for perfect-form pirouettes or beautifully executed back handspring. They wanted to see pure strength.
Bodybuilding reshaped her identity as an athlete and revealed just how much her body was capable of. But what started as an expression of strength and identity, quickly warped into something unhealthy. Phillipson soon became captivated by the adrenaline of conformity.
Bodybuilding was the opportunity to fit the mold she’d been trying to shove herself into from childhood. Phillipson knew exactly what she needed to do to look like everyone else.
“I saw that as an opportunity to start fitting into the box of an able bodied person, looking and operating like an able bodied person.” Phillipson said. “Pushing myself into the box became addicting. What else can I do to look more normal?”
After fighting so hard to abandon the trap of uniformity, Phillipson had fallen right back in. She knew she’d have to climb out once again.
Soon after graduation, Phillipson began working as a fitness coordinator for the Crunch Fitness franchise. As she worked at the gym and witnessed able-bodied attendees participate in countless group fitness classes, she questioned the accessibility for disabled individuals. Recalling her experience as a dancer and constantly being compared to able-bodied athletes, Phillipson didn’t want people to be forced into workout routines that didn’t fit their bodies. She remembered the need for an inclusive space at Michigan and questioned the demand for adaptive athletics elsewhere.
Phillipson had the idea to create the first adaptive fitness group class at Crunch. She posted the signup form, unsure if the class would gain traction. The class filled up overnight. Phillipson unlocked her purpose.
She spent the next month at Crunch building the adaptive fitness class and spreading it across the franchise. Phillipson invested in her passion as well, becoming a certified personal trainer and nutrition coach.
Finally, the opportunity she’d been dreaming of fell right in front of her: a job posting for the Michigan adaptive strength and conditioning coach.
Phillipson’s journey has come full circle. The same girl once troubled by the confines of able-bodied athletics, is now the one creating the inclusive space she needed and providing that support for others. Her differences that once isolated her became the very purpose of her career and advocacy as a coach.
Phillipson continues to build upon a community of adaptive athletics at Michigan where no one is benched for their disability.
“We have athletes in our program that, for a myriad of reasons, have been told all their lives that they can’t do this because of the stigma and because of the misperceptions that come with having a disability,” Erik Robeznieks (Michigan adaptive sports and fitness associate director) told The Daily. “Abby employs a strategy and a tactic that guides her strength and conditioning coaching that limitation can come not from the individual, but from the environment, the equipment or the parameters. And when we create those adaptations, and manipulate the environment, it allows people to have access.”
Phillipson’s journey has redefined accessibility in adaptive athletics and continues to inspire a community of dedicated athletes of all ages and physical abilities. Phillipson has created a space where people are encouraged to try something they never thought they would have the opportunity to do.
Michigan PhD student and competitive parapowerlifter, Mira Mutnick, was only introduced to adaptive sports one year ago. Because of her Osteogenesis Imperfecta, a genetic brittle bone disorder, Mutnick was unable to safely explore sports throughout her childhood. Once she got to Michigan, she realized she wanted to improve her physical health and wellbeing through adaptive fitness.
“From our first introduction, I knew that she was meant to be in my life,” Mutnick told The Daily. “She’s so warm and bubbly and excited to help you be your best in a way that’s safe.”
By joining the program, Mutnick found a new way to improve upon her physical health and wellbeing. As Mutnick committed to weightlifting, Phillipson showed how her muscles were growing and strengthening to support her bones.
Phillipson’s purpose became abundantly clear. She was now helping a beginner athlete make the same discovery she had made years prior. Through resilience and determination, Phillipson had bridged the gap for Mutnick and provided an inclusive resource that Phillipson had longed for from a young age.
Phillipson provides support to the entire adaptive sports community at Michigan. From adaptive track and field athletes to wheelchair basketball players, Phillipson is a coach that everyone is proud to have on their team.
“I just love going to the gym every day that she’s there because she’s so supportive of everyone.” Mutnick said.
Phillipson found power in her individuality. She has broken out of the confines of able-bodied varsity athletics and proved that this space, these sports and these athletes are just as deserving as any others. By helping to build such a rich community of adaptive sports at Michigan, Phillipson has shown the magnitude of this program and the future it’s carving out for adaptive athletes like herself.
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